


Through the Dark

by Talulabelle



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: A is for angst, Drug Use, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Gen, Mind Control, Non-Con/Rape elements, Serious therapy needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-03
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talulabelle/pseuds/Talulabelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her life exists in three parts; before <i>Him</i>, during <i>Him</i> and after <i>Him</i>.</p>
<p>Now that the battle is over it's time to put the pieces of her life back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [Sigridhr](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigridhr/pseuds/Sigridhr) and [Meinterrupted](http://archiveofourown.org/users/meinterrupted/pseuds/meinterrupted) for being, as always, amazing friends and betas. 
> 
> The title belongs to KT Tunstall. The original character of Savannah belongs to me.

She’s cold.

It’s the single pervasive thought coursing through her mind right now. She’s cold – _freezing_ – from the inside out, which doesn’t make sense at all because it’s late August in the midwest and it’s always 100 plus degrees and nearly suffocating. So she piles on the layers and sleeps with her jacket and socks on at night and just can’t seem to shake the feeling that something is off. Why is she cold? Is she sick? 

The more questions she asks, the harder she tries to piece things together, the more vague things become. It doesn’t hurt, thinking so much, but after a few days of worrying over why she feels so cold the thought drifts away and she’s left wondering why she was so concerned in the first place.

Because He is here. He is simplicity. He is carefree. 

He is everything.

He is her world.

Life before Him, before Loki of Asgard removed the burden of freedom and thought from her, seems but a distant memory now. She still remembers everything. Her friends, her family. School. Work. Boyfriends. Birthdays. Everything is still there, but it all seems different now. Muddled, unclear. 

Unimportant.

Because her life now, her world and her everything is Him.

~~~

Savannah is reborn.

The Savannah before was weak. She was blinded by the illusion of freedom. Her life didn’t start until that day, that wonderful day when Loki and His other Chosen came crashing into the lab. She remembers the fear and, looking back, doesn’t miss that emotion at all. She remembers those who opposed Him, who were too blinded by that illusion of freedom and how they fell. She remembers standing, shaking, her chin held high as words fell out of her mouth.

She was a computer science student. Not who they were looking for. Not a physicist. 

He chose her anyway.

And she knows, oh she knows, how lucky she is that He chose her anyway.

~~~

“Savannah.”

She kneels before him as he speaks her name and sets his hand on her head, relishing His touch. She remembers how her body would cry out during those first few days, how her knees would ache after staying in such a position for so long. She even remembers the few lingering protests against it, how desperately the illusion of her previous life was trying to cling on.

But now she kneels with no protest. She kneels because she can, because she wants to, and because it makes Him happy.

She kneels for Him, because she is His favorite.

He touches her like He touches no other. He uses her name like it still means something. He trusts her, trusts her abilities enough to take her to Germany to aid in what she knows is likely the most vital part of His plans.

And soon, she hopes, He will take her to His bed.

“You know Clint, of course.”

Her eyes shift over to the newcomer in the room. Yes, she knows Clint, but nothing beyond his name and the knowledge that he was the First to be chosen along with Doctor Selvig. So she nods, not sure what else He wants her to say, or do. Her brows furrow as she continues to glance between the two, which draws a soft chuckle from Him. His hand moves from her head to cup her cheek.

“You both have important tasks to complete this evening. I thought that a little _preview_ of what shall come when you are successful was in order.”

She doesn’t know what he means, yet does at the same time, though she refuses to accept it, because it’s Him that she wants to please. Not Clint. But He just nods, and before she can voice a protest, before she can ask what she’s done to displease Him, Clint is grabbing her.

It feels wrong.

Somewhere, some hidden part of her that long ago gave up on even trying, comes alive again. She knows that this is wrong. That Clint’s hands touching and groping and _hurting_ is not what she wants, at all. She knows that she needs to stop him, that she needs to say no, to fight back.

But He is watching. And He is smiling.

So she does it for Him.

It’s all for Him now.

~~~

Something is wrong.

Savannah feels anxious, on edge. And she’s not sure why, because she and Clint were both successful in their missions. Their return to the base is met by cheers and clapping, and Savannah is grinning from ear to ear as they walk through the crowd. Less than five minutes in and she’s able to figure out what feels so off about the evening.

He isn’t here.

Her eyes were scanning for Him the moment they came back, and so far there’s no sign of Him anywhere.

When five minutes become over two hours, she really starts to panic.

Clint remains calm, at least on the surface. Says that he has an idea of where He is and that he needs her help to find Him. Savannah with a purpose is something to be reckoned with and she tosses herself headfirst into the task with reckless abandon and an overwhelming sense of urgency. She needs to find Him more than she needs anything else in this life.

They track his location to something Clint calls the Helicarrier, and, while the word holds little meaning for her, it must mean quite a lot to Clint because he’s already assembling a team. In her desperation to find Him she volunteers as well, but Clint refuses. Says that she’s safer here, that she’s of more use to him here.

She’s not happy about it, but she does as she’s told. Because she knows that Clint will tell Him if she does otherwise.

Time drags while Clint is gone. Minutes seem like hours, hours like days, and days like weeks. She’s not even entirely sure of just how long it is until, finally, Clint’s men return. But there’s no sign of Clint. This worries her, because for Clint to be absent means that something must have gone horribly wrong. Clint was the First, the best, the most trained out of them all. Clint doesn’t fail, and he certainly doesn’t get left behind. She’s in the middle of realizing that she’s actually feeling concern for Clint when something catches her attention and she forgets all about Clint.

Because He is there.

And He is angry. 

It’s painfully obvious in the way He’s carrying himself, but there’s something else there. Something she just can’t quite put her finger on, and then it’s gone before she can question it again. There’s a fleeting thought of rushing towards Him and dropping to her knees in welcoming Him back, but a look He shoots in her direction stills her movements.

She knows what’s coming. And does nothing to stop it. Because this is the first time that He has done this himself. Before this, before now when He orders her to strip, when He tears at her clothes when she’s taking too long, it was always Clint. But Clint isn’t here, and while this is not at all how she wants Him to touch her for the first time, she says nothing. She utters not a single word of protest.

Not even when the pain is enough to make her cry this time, or she can taste her own blood on her lip, or when He wraps his hand around her throat and squeezes until the world around her threatens to go black.

“Enough.”

With that single, curt word, He stops and leaves. She’s left alone then, a useless heap of bruised and bloodied limbs on the cold floor.

Later, much later, He returns and carries her to His room. He whispers words that she can’t quite understand as He holds her, and she clings onto Him as he walks down through the empty corridors.

She knows she should hate herself, but she doesn’t. Instead, she smiles and buries her head into His neck and thanks Him a million times.

~~~

They’re in New York now.

She’s long since given up on keeping track of where they are at any given point in time, but the tell-tale skyline of New York City is hard to miss. As is the slight chill in the air, and a quick glance at the date on the newspaper tells her that it is early spring. Before, before Him and before the Tesseract, she remembers spring being her favorite season. Spring was a time of promise, of renewal and hope.

Now her promise, her renewal and her hope are all granted through Him and His plans.

Plans that involve an invasion. An army sent to destroy the earth and those who dare to oppose Him. 

There is a great risk, He tells them all one evening. Sacrifices will need to be made, but those sacrifices will not be in vain. And those closest to Him, those within His inner circle, those who have done the most to ensure His victory will be rewarded beyond compare. He looks to her and Doctor Selvig when He says this and she can’t help but feel a swell of pride well up inside of her. And He continues on, rallying them into a frenzy, lifting their spirits as He prepares them for war. They all believe in Him and only Him. They will all fight for Him, die for Him, do their best for Him.

Of course, they’re all forgetting that old phrase about best laid plans...

~~~

Chaos.

Chaos is the only word fitting enough to describe the day of the attack.

Clint is gone. Doctor Selvig is sent off to manage the portal. And He has his own plans to deal with, leaving her essentially in charge of the handful of people left behind at their current base of operations.

The few, the proud, the unessential.

It’s now, as the world falls around them and panic grips her heart that she first begins to doubt His words. How can He save her, how can He reward her when He’s not even here to help? 

But she shoves that doubt aside and swallows her panic and puts on a brave face for the others. Because they’re now looking up to her, waiting for her orders, listening to her words. The power rush that comes with that is undeniable, even at a time such as now. And it’s that, that tiny taste of the world He has promised them all that urges her on. That keeps her going even as the lights flicker for the tenth time before finally staying off. It’s that sense of promise that has her shooting at anything or anyone that breaches their compound. It’s her devotion to Him and his words that even has her shoot the few of their group that try to leave. Their death is the cost of their betrayal.

Victory is close. So very close, but before that victory comes, before she can live the life that He will give her, the walls of their compound come crashing down. A large chunk of steel and concrete hits her, sending her to the floor. And as everything pulls away and turns dark she’s left with the awful feeling of not failing herself, but failing Him.


	2. Chapter 2

The first coherent thought to filter through her head is that she hurts.

Everywhere.

Even her eyelashes hurt, which seems such a silly thing because how can eyelashes hurt? Sure, there was that one incident with an eyelash curler back in high school but even then they didn’t hurt as much as they did now. Even thinking hurts, but it’s that thought, and the concise and clear recollection of that memory of years ago that pulls her full into consciousness.

She’s herself again.

It’s a horrible, heartbreaking sensation. Panic grips her chest as she scrambles to search for something, anything that would indicate that He is still a part of her. 

There’s nothing.

And she’s not sure which is worse; the fact that He’s gone, or the fact that instead of relief at this she’s feeling desperation.

But part of that desperation can certainly be attributed to the pressing matter of the debris falling all around her. She’s not exactly sure how long she’s been out, but a cursory feel of the lump on her head brings back fresh blood. So, not too long. Just long enough for His control over her to stop. Is He dead? It terrifies her to think this, even more so that she’s so worried about Him after everything He’s done. To her, to others, to the city. It’s a very confusing place in her head right now and while she feels no issue at all with just laying there she knows she needs to get up.

Moving is awful. She tries not to think about how much it hurts to sit up, especially not how she nearly passes out when she, finally, manages to stand up. The room spins for what seems like an eternity and there’s a long drawn out feeling of things tilting on end. Savannah closes her eyes and takes several deep breaths before things seem to right themselves. When she’s certain that she can move without immediately falling she starts walking.

Where, though?

There’s nobody for her in New York and she’s not exactly certain where they are anyways. Things seem all hazy, like she’s woken up in the middle of the night. There’s no telling whether that’s from the concussion or the aftermath of whatever Loki had done to her. So she walks aimlessly for a while, taking in the damage as she does. Their base is a mess, almost unrecognizable now. She tries not to count all the bodies she sees but when she reaches thirty she stops. It hurts to breathe and she’s shaking and just feels so _awful_. Like this is somehow her fault, that there was more she could have done to protect them. To stop Him. And even though she knows that there wasn’t she also knows that she’ll hold on to that guilt for a long, long time.

But for the moment, at least, that guilt is forgotten. Because now? Now she has to run.

Armed men are swooping into the wreckage. They look nothing like the police or any branch of military, but it’s still obvious that they’re not to be messed with. Thankfully she’s mostly hidden behind a large chunk of what used to be the wall of the main computer lab when the first wave comes in. If she plays her cards right she just might be able to get out of here without getting spotted. Slowly, both because of the increasing throbbing in her head and to avoid detection, she sticks low to the ground and backs away until she reaches a relatively undamaged corridor. From there she takes the quickest path to one of the many exits the building has. They must not know about this one, or haven’t reached it yet because the coast is clear. 

Through either dumb luck or some twist of fate she makes it out and into what can only be described as a disaster zone.

The city is in ruins and, once again, there’s that guilt. Brainwashed or not, some of that blood is on her hands.

But she shoves that aside for now while she tries to figure out what to do. She has no money, no ID, no credit cards, no cell phone. Anything that could be of some use is all back in Kansas still. And this is where being in the middle of a disaster actually helps; everyone else is going to be without the essentials and she looks bad enough to be able to blend in with the rest of the huddled masses. She stumbles towards a small group all in varying conditions, the healthiest one spotting her first.

“Hey, honey, you okay?”

The tears, she discovers, are not all false. Neither is the gut wrenching sob she lets out, or the shaking of her hands as she’s helped to sit on the curb. The leader, who calls himself Mike, hands her a bottle of water while they wait for a bus to come by that will take them to a nearby school that’s serving as a field hospital. Mike explains this all to them in calm, even words and the entire time Savannah can’t help but wonder what they would think if they knew. If they knew what she had done, how much she had helped this invasion, how much of her life she had given over to Him. 

The guilt only grows as she spends the next five hours in the makeshift ER. She’s lucky, they tell her, as they finish her exam. Only a few bruised ribs, nothing broken. She has a mild concussion and she’s instructed to stay with a friend tonight and sent on her way with a bag of painkillers after lying about having somewhere to go.

Once she’s far enough away from the crowd at the school she tosses the pills into the trash; she deserves the pain. 

~~~

Three weeks after the attack and longer still since the incident on the Helicarrier and Clint is still checking his eyes in the mirror every morning. His SHIELD appointed therapist says this is normal and that, in time, the need to do this will fade away. But Clint doesn’t exactly believe the guy. Yet he still goes to each session, if only to make Fury and the other powers that be happy. If it means staying busy and being allowed back on active duty, then so be it. Otherwise he’ll be fated to the hell that is light duty and he knows that idleness will only make the nightmares worse.

So he throws himself headfirst into the task of cleaning things up. And right now that consists of tracking down the last of Loki’s brainwashed henchmen.

Or, henchwoman in this case. Their screens come to life with the image of a young woman, smile on her face and eyes full of life with a slight glint of mischief in them. 

He stares at the photo on the screen before him, recognition and a healthy dose of guilt filtering in past his carefully erected shields. He tries to damper those feelings down, but apparently not before Fury picks up on them.

“You recognize her, Barton?”

Clint nods. “Her name is Savannah. She was one of the first ones taken in after Doctor Selvig and I.”

It’s the simplest answer he can give without getting into the gorier details about his knowledge of Savannah. This, too, must be obvious to Fury, but the man lets it slide and carries on.

“Here’s what we know; Savannah Kemper, twenty-five. Was in the first week of her second year in the computer science graduate program at the University of Kansas in Lawrence when Loki showed up on campus. Three people were reported missing that day; two members of the physics team that we have since tracked down, and Miss Kemper here.”

The screen flicks to her Facebook account then. Clint scrolls through the posts, seeing comment threads from friends, the requisite silly pictures, and stops on an update dated August twentieth.

_What sort of trouble can a computer science student get up to in a physics lab? Muahaha. Any explosions or tears in the fabric of space are totally not my fault._

Her updates stop after that, and the only thing on her wall are comments from friends, worried questions about where she is and if she’s okay.

The screen flicks once more to another picture, this one a grainy surveillance shot. She looks awful in it, harried and frightened. All of the life in her eyes is gone and Clint feels another hot stab of guilt in the pit of his stomach. 

“This was taken two days ago. From what we can tell she’s still in the city and is making use of the food kitchens on a fairly regular basis. If our data is correct, we should be able to pick her up tonight. Just as with the others, I don’t want any force used unless absolutely necessary. Is that clear?”

All of the heads in the room nod, Clint included. There aren’t any questions, so the team is dismissed to get ready for the op. Clint, however, is held back by Fury.

“It’s obvious that you have some sort of history with this girl, Barton. Can I trust that it won’t cause any issues tonight?” Fury has the uncanny ability to stare you down more than a single eye than an entire room of people with both eyes can.

“No issues, sir.”

Even Clint knows that it’s not entirely the truth.

~~~

Someone is following her.

The unshakable feeling of eyes on her started at the Fifth Street soup kitchen. She left the line, making sure to look annoyed about the wait just in case anybody was watching her and started the walk to the next kitchen. It only got worse at that one, and now, at her fourth stop she’s almost ready to scream from the paranoia and fear that grip at her heart.

Still, she knows that it was only a matter of time before someone found her. And honestly, she’s almost relieved about it. The overwhelming desire to turn herself in had come up so many times in the three weeks since the attack but every time she got close to a police station she changed her mind at the last minute. So there’s a part of her that almost welcomes this, this feeling of being followed, of somehow knowing that it’s likely the same people behind the initial raid on the compound.

But the part of her that’s terrified, the part that keeps her awake all night and shakes at the thought of what will happen to her wants nothing to do with it. And it’s that part, the purely instinctual part of her, that runs at the first glimpse of black.

She’s still recovering from her injuries so she’s not able to run fast, but she pushes herself beyond the pain, beyond the ache in her legs and the burning in her chest. She runs past confused stares and accusing eyes, not stopping until she feels her vision starting to fade.

When it clears after blinking a few times she finds herself in an alley. A dead end.

Of course.

She turns around to start to run out when a figure appearing at the entrance stops her. 

Clint.

“Shit.”

He seems unphased by her curse, but also slightly torn at seeing her. She wants to laugh because she feels the exact same way.

“Savannah.”

She flinches at hearing her name, especially from him. Her muscles remain tense, legs ready to carry her straight past him.

“Savannah, please. We don’t want to hurt you. We just need to ask you a few questions. Please.”

He holds his hand out, and for a long, long while she actually considers his offer as she stares at it. But then a movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention and her stare pulls away from Clint. There are four men closing in on them, all holding weapons that are pointed at her.

She turns back to stare at Clint, hurt and betrayal and fear on her face. She twitches, and knows that Clint knows what she’s planning.

“Don’t.”

“Go to hell.”

Savannah makes a run for it then, not really shocked by Clint’s lack of effort to grab her. To her credit, she actually makes it five feet before two sets of hands clamp down on her arms like bands of steel. The instinct to fight back overrides any logical thought, and fight she does. She screams and kicks and flails, but it’s no use. Their grip can’t be broken. When Clint enters her field of vision again he’s not alone. There’s a man with a trenchcoat and an eyepatch standing with him. She glares at them both, giving her futile attempt at escape one last try as she shouts awful things at them. The man in black simply nods, and she lets out a soft cry of pain and surprise at feeling the pinch and following sting in her neck.

Once again she’s drawn into the inky blanket of unconsciousness. Only this time she hopes that she won’t wake up again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your feedback and support! As this is evolving I'm not sure exactly how many chapters it will be, but once I get further along I'll update the chapter count.

“Jesus.”

Clint swears, then adds in a few more choice words under his breath as he reads through the medical report on one Savannah Kemper. Mild concussion, three bruised ribs, two broken toes, multiple contusions. And that was just from the attack on the city. There’s a laundry list of other injuries from her time spent as one of Loki’s brainwashed masses, all in various stages of healing. Each one is documented in her file with a picture and description and the only question in Clint’s head is how many are because of him?

His memories from his time with Loki are odd. He can remember everything he did, but as a mass and not in individual moments. And if he tries to pick out a single memory, a single moment or event, it’s clouded over. Hazy. 

So he knows that he hurt Savannah. Rather, that Loki _made_ him hurt Savannah, says his mandatory therapist. He just can’t remember how badly or how often. And he’s not sure if he wants Savannah to be any clearer on her memories of the events or not.

“Barton.”

Fury floats in like a stealth fighter to join his vigil at the window as he watches Savannah’s unconscious form. He had hoped it wouldn’t have come to knocking her out, but with all the poking and prodding the medical team has done it’s probably for the best.

“Sir.”

Silence that’s not quite uncomfortable but not exactly comfortable either settles in between them. Several heartbeats pass before Clint feels a need to say something. Anything.

“He made me hurt her.” He paused. “Made me rape her.” 

Okay, so maybe not that. He’s told Tasha, of course. And his therapist. And while that information is supposedly confidential, Fury is Fury so he’s not going to be surprised at all if the man already knows. But it seems that this is news to Fury, if the slight stiffening of the director’s shoulders is any indication to the fact. Clint knows he should feel at least somewhat awkward about spilling such a graphic detail, but he doesn’t. He actually feels a small sense of relief.

Very small. 

But it’s the first thing even remotely resembling relief that he’s felt in weeks, so he’ll take it.

Fury, to his credit, doesn’t swear. Or at least not out loud. He simply nods before speaking again.

“We’ll have to question her, once medical clears her. But we really have no case to hold her. She has no criminal record, not even an overdue library book or a parking ticket.”

“And after that?”

“That’ll be up to her. And you. If you think you can work together without any problems, and if it’s something she wants, we may have a place for her.”

Clint nods but refrains from commenting any further on the subject. After another stretch of silence, Fury departs, leaving Clint alone to continue his vigil. Only from the outside, though. He hasn’t gone into her room once since she was brought to the medical floor in Stark Tower and he’s not sure when or if he’ll be able to do that. Her reaction to seeing him again wasn’t the greatest, though in all fairness it was expected, given the circumstances. Hell, even he’s not sure how he feels about seeing her again. While it’s another small relief to see her alive there’s a part of him, that selfish part that still wants to cling onto doing this all on his own, that had hoped they wouldn’t cross paths again. Especially not like this.

But she’s here, and he just has to deal with that. 

Only he doesn’t know where to start. Somehow _I’m sorry_ doesn’t seem like it will even scratch the surface. Though it couldn’t hurt, could it? 

He sighs as he realizes that his feet have carried him into her room. It’s silent save for the soft sounds of her even breaths. His hand reaches out on its own accord to brush a piece of hair out of her face. She doesn’t even flinch, no doubt thanks to the drugs still running through her system. He stares at her for a while, this girl who’s last name he didn’t even know until today. This girl that was just helping friends out, who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, whose life is now forever altered. Because of him.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes on the words at first, so he repeats them. “I’m so sorry, Savannah. You didn’t deserve any of this. Hell, I didn’t either. I hope the bastard rots in whatever hell those Asgardians believe in.”

His hands clench into fists at his sides and he has to take a breath to calm himself down. Now is not the time or place for rage.

“I promise you this, Savannah. If I ever see the bastard again, I’ll let you take the first shot before I finish him off.”

~~~

Waking up the second time around isn’t much better than the first time, but at least this time she’s laying on a fairly comfortable bed and not the ground.

Wait.

A bed?

Her eyes flash open as panic grips her heart, memories of the last time she woke up unexpectedly in a bed crashing down around her. She gasps, not knowing where she is or how she got here but knows that she needs to get out. And fast.

Sitting up takes quite a lot of effort and she nearly falls as she slides off the bed, but then she’s standing and the specific details of how she got to this particular bed start filtering back in. And, really, they’re not all that great either. Clint was there and so were a whole bunch of armed men from the group they work for - she can vaguely remember that it was some sort of complicated name with a somewhat fitting acronym. SHIELD? Maybe. But the identity of her hosts is the last thing on her mind. Right now, well, right now she just wants out. There’s just one problem with that, though, and it becomes painfully obvious as the room starts to spin and tilt on its side.

Whatever they gave her to keep her under hasn’t completely worn off just yet, and when she takes a tentative step forward she has to grab onto the closest thing - a chair - to keep from getting intimately introduced to the floor.

And, of course, that’s the exact moment that the door opens and in walks Clint.

They stare at each other, both unsure of what to say or do. But the door is left open behind him and there’s no way she’s passing up an opportunity like that. Drugs or not, she steps forward, willing her legs to carry her in a run.

She makes it about half a step before her knees give out and she’s saved from hitting the floor by a pair of muscular arms.

“Whoa, easy there.”

Clint guides her back to the bed and while she’s not thrilled at her failed attempt there’s a part of her that’s grateful to be seated.

“How’re you feeling? No. Wait. That’s a stupid question.”

He looks just as uncomfortable as she feels.

“I’m fine.”

She’s not. Not by a long shot, but he buys the lie anyways. Or at least he says nothing to the contrary because he just nods and takes a few steps back. It’s now that she realizes his hands had still been on her arms.

“Medical has cleared you. We, ah, need to debrief you.”

Right. She’s not really up on the super secret government agency lingo, but she has a pretty good grasp of what that means, and she’s not sure if she wants to laugh or cry. Or maybe both. They’re two perfectly acceptable reactions to a situation like this. Not that she has much of a basis of comparison consider she’s never been kidnapped and brainwashed by a god from another realm before.

Now that particular thought brings out a laugh. It’s a small, sad laugh and it causes Clint to quirk an eyebrow at her. He steps forward, out of concern no doubt, and she stops him with a shake of her head.

“I’m fine. Really. Can I at least shower and put on some clothes before the debrief?”

“Oh.” Clint looks sheepish and she almost laughs again. “Uh, yeah. Of course. I’ll have someone bring in something for you to wear.”

He makes a hasty exit, and she waits a beat before retreating to the bathroom in her room. It’s actually pretty nice as far as hospital bathrooms go, and she has to wonder if this is really a hospital or not. Especially with the luxury soaps and towels so soft that they should be illegal.

She emerges from the shower twenty minutes later feeling just a little more human and, sure enough, there’s a set of clean clothes for her.

Grabbing them, she heads back into the bathroom to change. It’s just sweatpants and a shirt, but they’re clean and fit well enough so that’s what matters. When she walks out of the bathroom again, Clint is waiting for her.

“Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

Her words aren’t incredibly convincing, but she’s hoping that she can trick herself into believing them.

~~~

He stays at her side as he leads her to the elevator to go down several levels, then through a series of long corridors before stopping at a door. Fury’s there waiting for them and nods to Clint before turning his attention to Savannah.

“Miss Kemper. Would you like Agent Barton in the room while we do this?”

It’s a fair enough question, and when she shakes her head he can’t deny the relief he feels. He’s not sure how he’d handle being in there with her. But he’ll still watch the video feed, of course. Technically he’s still the senior agent on her case and he’ll need to make a report on the outcome of the debrief.

Savannah doesn’t even glance his way as Fury opens the door for her.

Somehow, that makes things easier.

Clint walks down a few doors to the observation room and when he gets the screen fired up they’re just starting. Fury sits across from Savannah, leaning back in his chair, all casual and cool yet always so utterly in control. Savannah hunches in on herself, shoulders slouched, hands fidgeting in her lap. She’s nervous, even though she has no reason to be. Then again, being alone in a room with Nick Fury for the first time can set even the best agent on edge.

“So. Savannah. Your parents are from the south?”

“No. They’ve never even been outside of Kansas.” She leans back then, but stays in the defensive position by crossing her arms.

Fury continues with more easy questions, all things that they already know. The questions are asked to warm her up, and if she were a suspect in something, set her into a false sense of ease. But in Savannah’s case, they’re meant to comfort, not trap.

“What do you remember about that day?”

Savannah flinches, her eyes focused on a point on the table. Clint is, selfishly, curious to hear her response and compare it to what he remembers of his own conversion.

“Parker and AJ needed my help on a computer simulation for their project. I went to their lab after lunch and about an hour later he...” she falters here a moment before continuing “he just, came in. Like he popped into existence.”

“Was he alone?”

“Yes.”

“What happened next?”

“He started talking about needing help, needing people who were familiar with physics specifically.”

“Yet you’re the computer sciences student. So why did he take you?”

“You don’t think that I’ve been asking myself that every moment since I woke up to find myself no longer under his control?” She leans forward now, eyes wide and jaw stiff. “He nearly destroyed a million dollar lab and killed five people that day, including my friends. I have no idea why he took me when he could have just easily killed me as well.”

Fury easily diffuses what could potentially turn into a disastrous debrief, but Savannah doesn’t seem to fully recover from that. As the questions start to wind down she’s back to the huddled position, though this time it seems far more dejected than before. She doesn’t even glance up when Fury slides a folder in her direction.

“That includes a full description of the position, including salary and benefits. There’s a room for you here in Stark Tower, but if you’d prefer to live off property there’s a housing stipend available.”

Her head pops up then and she’s blinking like she’s just missed most of the past five minutes of Fury speaking. In all likelihood, she probably did.

“Wait. I helped a psychopath lead an alien invasion on the city and you’re offering me a job?”

Clint can’t hold back the laugh at this, and, if he were in the room with her would have said something along the lines of _Yeah, pretty much. Welcome to SHIELD._

Fury’s far more professional and even shakes Savannah’s hand when she accepts the offer with very little enthusiasm. She’s escorted out of the room to go to her new room, and Clint gets to work on his report. It’s all gone much better than he initially expected it to, and he’s actually feeling a little optimistic about things.

That night, when he wakes up a sweaty mess with the sheets tangled around his legs, the screams from his dream still echoing in his head, he knows just how wrong he was.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated the story tags, so please be aware of that.

The next time Clint wakes up with screams echoing in his head they’re real and not a product of a dream. Savannah’s apartment, whether out of cruel coincidence or a sadistic Tony Stark, is right across the hall from his. When he hears the screams, tormented and terrified, he jolts up in his bed, his hand immediately seeking out the gun at his bedside. Bows just aren’t practically to keep so close to where he sleeps, and he’s really only grabbing it out of pure instinct because when his brain fully wakes up he realizes where he is. Stark Tower is not only the most technologically advanced building out there, but it’s more secure than Fort Knox.

So the threat isn’t an external one, but internal. And Clint knows all too well what sort of dreams Savannah must be having. They’re awful things, not even deserving of the nightmare title. Twisted images of bodies and events, all tinged with a slight hue of blue. It’s always cold in those dreams too, and there are still moments where no matter how many blankets he piles on the bed that he just can’t stay warm all night.

He pads out into the hallway and spots Natasha popping out of her room as well. It’s about four in the morning, and knowing Steve he’s probably up already and knowing Bruce he’s probably still up. Clint nods to Natasha, a silent signal that he’s got this.

Or at least he hopes he does. He’s still not entirely sure how Savannah’s going to react to seeing him, especially after the brand of dreams they’re both prone to now. But part of him feels a sense of obligation to check on her, that even the smallest of gestures will start to make up for things. It doesn’t make much sense as he tries to justify it in his head, but by then it’s too late to stop because he’s entering in the override code to her door panel and walking in.

The apartment is dark as he carefully walks towards the bedroom.

“Savannah?” He calls out, keeping his voice calm yet firm. “It’s Clint. I’m just here to check on you.”

His only response is another scream and a series of mumbled words, and that’s when he figures out that she’s still asleep, caught in the grip of an awful dream.

He enters her bedroom, spotting her sleeping form tossing and turning on the bed. There’s just enough light filtering through the window to catch the pained look on her face and when she lets out a strangled cry his heart aches for her.

Damn Loki.

Damn Loki and the Tesseract and the whole damn thing. In another life in another world he could see himself going for a girl like Savannah. But instead he’s left with this; a victim of Loki, a victim of his own deeds, and a terrified girl screaming in the middle of the night.

“Savannah.” He speaks her name again, this time just a little more firmer and louder.

She jolts awake with a gasp and another strangled cry, and, forgetting everything that’s happened between them, he’s at her side in less than a second.

“Hey, easy now.” He sets a hand on her shoulder and she turns to him, clinging on for dear life. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

The words are repeated in a soothing manner a few more times, then as she fully wakes up her body stiffens. He expects this, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. As she starts to pull away he lets her go and puts some space between them.

“Why are you in my room?”

It’s not hard to detect the accusation in her voice and it’s almost enough to make him wince. The one conversation they had - if you could call it that - when she was released from medical had him feeling somewhat optimistic about things.

Oh, how wrong he was about that.

“You were having a nightmare. I heard you scream.” The whole floor likely heard her scream is what he wants to say, but he decides against burdening her with that.

“Oh,” is all she says before a long stretch of silence settles out between them. “Could you leave now? Please?”

His gut instinct is to say no, to make a case for why he should stay. But that please and the look in her eyes is more than enough to make him ignore that feeling. He’s obviously the last person she wants to see right now.

He nods. “I’m right across the hall if you need anything.” And then he leaves, not waiting to see what, if any, reaction she has to that.

~~~

They say that, on average, it takes two weeks to fully adjust to a new job.

It only takes a week for Savannah to determine that they, whoever they are, can quite frankly, suck it.

Sure, there’s not really much of a fundamental difference between what she was doing in her Master’s program and what SHIELD has her doing now. But the change from public sector to private is like learning an entirely new language. There are protocols and sub-protocols and standards to memorize and so many acronyms that her head hurts from trying to keep them all sorted out. Her security clearance has her marked as a junior level agent which, as far as she can tell, gives her access to most of the interesting things but keeps her out of getting into too much trouble. She knows that they still don’t fully trust her with the really good stuff.

She’s not sure that she still fully trusts herself.

Sleeping, or the lack thereof, certainly isn’t helping things. There’s no balance of it. She either spends the day sleeping, or doesn’t get any at all. Either way she almost always feels like she’s sleepwalking when she’s at work, and sitting in front of a computer for eight hours a day certainly doesn’t make that any better. Before, when she was just a grad student and not a new member of SHIELD, she’d resort to mass quantities of caffeine to get by. But the coffee station is always a hive of activity and the one day she was brave enough to go, somebody’s arm accidentally brushed against hers and she nearly had a panic attack.

Needless to say, week one sucked. Week two wasn’t much better, and now that she’s at the end of week three she’s almost ready to scream at the computer when her program fails to run. Again.

It’s happened to her countless times before, but this time it’s just too much. She can feel the tears stinging her eyes and her heart starts pounding in her chest and before she can grab a Xanax from her purse, the panic attack has settled in.

She practically runs to the bathroom, pill bottle gripped tightly in her hand as she goes to the furthest stall from the door and sinks down to the floor. Somehow she manages to get the lid off and dry-swallows two of the little yellow pills. Her eyes stay pressed shut until the panic fades away and she spends the rest of the day in a haze because the psychiatrist only ordered her to take half a pill as needed. Not two. But half a pill only took the edge off. A full pill made her feel better, so she figured that two would make her feel much better.

Oh, she knows the dangers of it. The psychiatrist warned her at least three times about the dangers of Xanax and how habit forming it could become. The pharmacist had done the same, but that she ignored because she had been in the early stages of an attack at simply being outside the walls of Stark Tower for the first time. So she promises herself that it’s just this once, that she needed the extra boost to get through the day and ward off any further attacks.

If only she could believe that.

By week six she’s taking two on a regular basis. Not only that, but she’s lying to her psychiatrist about how many she’s taking.

By week eight, two just doesn’t seem to do much but she can’t switch to three because she’ll run out too quickly and start to arouse suspicion.

So she resorts to other means.

Meth was always the drug of choice in the midwest, but she never wanted to touch the stuff then and even now she wants nothing to do with it. It’s almost shockingly easy, however, to get what she needs in New York City. There’s almost every drug known out there, prescription or illegal. The difficulty lies in deciding what to take. She tries Ambien at first, hoping that sleeping more than an hour at a time will make a difference. And she sleeps, almost a solid seven hours, but the grip of those awful nightmares is far too strong and she winds up having an almost seven hour long dream of Loki and Clint and unwanted hands all over her.

The Ambien is sold to make enough money to buy something else.

She snorts cocaine, just once, but it’s so awful that she never wants to do it again. Her brain won’t shut off - at all. It races all day long, not stopping for a second, and of course the only thoughts that are there are those of her time with Loki. It’s like her nightmares on steroids, and she winds up calling in to work that day. Sleep won’t come, not even with the Ambien she winds up finding. So she cleans her apartment, from top to bottom, all the while praying that Clint won’t do the noble thing and come to check on her. 

Weeks nine, ten, and eleven are spent relying only on the Xanax, and by week twelve she’s ready to give up all hope.

Nothing, not a thing, will ever come close to how she felt while under Loki’s control.

It’s a frightening realization, the fact that there’s a part of her that actually misses it, craves it even. But it’s there, and when she accepts this fact it’s almost cathartic in a sense. It’s also a revelation of sorts, because in her research of drugs and their effects she comes across Ecstasy. The listed effects seem to be the closest thing, so that night she heads out with the intent on trying it. And as she’s leaving the Tower she has no idea that Clint is watching from his perch upon high, living up to his namesake.

~~~

It’s week sixteen now, and Savannah’s been taking regular doses of Ecstasy for just under a month. She ignores the fact that she almost always buys the blue ones, ignores the fact that she’s pretty sure that Clint is starting to suspect something and especially ignores the fact that by any definition she’s now an addict.

But she tells herself that she’s not an addict. That she’s only doing what she needs to get by. Because, really, it is helping. She doesn’t need to sleep as much anymore and her energy level is through the roof. Food has all but lost its appeal, which conveniently eliminates the need for any uncomfortable interactions with others in the dining hall. When her programs fail to run on the first try she just shrugs it off and tries again, and she hasn’t had to pop a Xanax or two in weeks.

In a sense, things are perfect.

Never mind the fact that she’s resorting to an illicit substance to recreate the euphoria she felt while under the control of a psychopath.

That she ignores.

What’s becoming harder to ignore, however, is the fact that she’s now certain that Clint suspects something. In what little conversation they share he almost always asks if she’s okay. She can spot him staring at her at meal times when she does nothing more than take a few bites and when her clothes start to hang off of her, she can’t ignore the look of concern.

She also can’t ignore the fact that he’s in her room. Again.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” She yells at him, shaking, fists clenching at her sides as she enters to find him standing in the middle of her livingroom.

“Okay. My turn- what the fuck are these?”

He holds up a plastic baggy of blue pills, shaking them once for emphasis.

“They’re nothing. They’re also mine.” She holds her hand out. “So give them back and get the fuck out.”

“No.”

She wants to scream at him but somehow manages to reign in her rage and the sheer panic she feels at having him discover her stash.

“Tell me what the hell they are and then we’ll talk.”

“It’s just some Ecstasy, Clint. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Clint starts to walk away, off in the direction of the bathroom and she knows exactly what he’s doing so she practically runs after him. “No big deal. Are you fucking crazy, Savannah?”

No. Yes. Maybe.

She certainly feels crazy as she launches herself at him as he holds his arm up to dump the pills, those sacred little pills, into the toilet.

“No! No, please!”

Clint easily shakes her grip and she stumbles back before sinking to the ground. Each plop of a pill hitting the water is like a stab to the chest, and when she hears the toilet flushing she feels her life come crashing down around her. She curls up, shaking and crying and raging at him. Awful things, horrible things leave her mouth as she sobs and all the while he just stands there. It’s not until she feels completely empty and drained of all her energy that he speaks up.

“How long?”

“The Ecstasy? About a month.”

“There’s been others?”

She nods, but knows that he wants to hear it.

“Ambien for a few nights. Cocaine once.”

It sounds so awful hearing that out loud and she wants to cry again but the tears just won’t come. She hears a shuffling of fabric and then Clint is kneeling down next to her. He doesn’t touch her, for which she’s grateful because she’s certain that she would crumble if he did.

“I’m going to help you through this. I swear to you that it will get better.”

She wants to believe him, oh how she ever does. But she just can’t.


	5. Chapter 5

Turns out that when you live and work in Stark Tower and your employer happens to be a super secret government agency, you don’t actually have to go to rehab.

Rehab comes to you.

This softens the blow, but only slightly because less than five minutes after collapsing on the floor while Clint flushes her life away, a team of SHIELD agents, all armed no less, filter into her apartment. Clint has to physically drag her away while they practically ransack the place. No cushion, book or table is left unturned as they search for any of her remaining stashes. They find them all, and with each bag or bottle seized she feels herself dying a little on the inside. It’s not enough for Clint to witness this, but these people are her colleagues. People that, in time, she would like to trust.

Searching her apartment for drugs isn’t exactly the best way to establish that trust.

She even recognizes a few of them and avoids making eye contact as they continue their work in silence and eerie precision. When Director Fury turns up, Savannah wishes she could absorb into the wall and hide. He says nothing, but the single look she catches is more than enough to make her feel about a thousand times worse, which she didn’t think was possible. But the look is there, and it speaks volumes; this is a huge mark against her, a significant setback to all the progress she had been making. She almost wants to scream at him, to tell him that she realizes this, but when she goes to open her mouth, Clint’s hand settles down on her arm. A silent warning that in some cases silence is golden. And now is definitely one of those cases.

When all is said and done, her apartment is stripped bare of anything even remotely resembling a pill. They even take her tylenol away. From now on, if she needs anything, even something as simple as a cough drop, she has to go through medical.

They leave what personal items she has at least, including her books. Her access to the internet is limited and she knows better than to try to bypass those particular filters. Mostly because she helped program said filters and any attempts at altering them toe the line of violating a few sections of the Patriot Act.

No mention is made of increased surveillance, but she’s pretty certain that JARVIS will be paying closer attention to her now. She’s pretty annoyed at the intrusion into her privacy, but when she goes to say as much Clint shoots her a look that shuts her up pretty damn fast. This is answered with a glare on her behalf and whatever progress she had made towards being able to see him as just another person and not the man who violated her while under the control of Loki is lost.

The look he gives her as he leaves is the final blow; Clint’s not exactly what she would consider a friend, but it certainly feels like she’s losing the only person who has her back. Despite his earlier words of helping her out, no matter what, she’s not feeling too optimistic about that.

There’s no sound of the door locking when it closes, but the oppressive feeling it leaves makes that unnecessary. 

“Now what?” she asks the silence as she stares at her apartment.

They could have at least left a huge mess for her to clean. Instead the place is spotless. Meticulous. Too clean.

So she spends the next hour disorganizing everything. Her life is a mess, so why shouldn’t her apartment reflect that?

The next hour is spent pacing around. She’d taken a pill about twenty minutes before finding Clint in her apartment, so there’s still some of that precious high left. Knowing that it’s her last makes her want to enjoy every single second of it. So she cranks up some music and dances; if she can’t go out, then she can at least have her own party here. When the dancing loses its appeal, she starts cooking up the most bizarre combinations of food she can think off, all of them fatty and heart attack inducing, but all the better for the last lingering effects of the Ecstasy.

When she starts to come down she wants to scream. Wants to hold onto that feeling for as long as she can, but the harder she grasps at the few remaining wisps of the high, the faster they slip away. She doesn’t scream, knowing that it will only bring Clint here and he’s the last person she wants to see, but she does cry.

A lot.

She cries for Loki’s victims. The ones he hurt, the ones he brainwashed, the ones he killed. She cries for their lost lives, their shattered hopes, and the way they were so unfairly taken away from those who loved them. She cries for New York, despite having never been there until Loki took her. For the destruction that is still being cleaned up, for the devastation to such an amazing city. 

She cries for her family. For the secrets she’s had to keep from them, for the way her mom’s voice sounded when she finally called her after being considered missing or dead for months. She cries for the strain put on their relationship, for the desperation in her father’s voice when he asked her to just come home. For the way she had to turn him down and, no, she couldn’t tell him why. She cries for her friends, for all those amazing, supportive, wonderful people who have to be left in the dark too.

But most of all, she cries for herself. For how she feels so utterly alone and broken. How nothing makes sense anymore now that both Loki and the drugs are gone. She cries for even feeling that way in the first place, for having those awful moments where a part of her actually misses Loki. She cries for how that drove her to the drugs in the first place. She cries because there’s nothing else she can do.

When the tears dry and she’s left feeling empty and barren, she collapses onto the couch and watches mindless television until she passes out into a fitful sleep.

~~~

She crashes, hard.

Her sleep, if it can even be called as such, only lasts about two hours before she wakes up in a cold sweat. She’s shaking something awful, and barely makes it to the bathroom before dropping to her knees and heaving into the toilet. Turns out that a steady diet of caffeine, alcohol and junk food isn’t exactly the greatest thing to live off of for a few months.

JARVIS must have been left with instructions to notify someone in the event of such a situation, because two minutes later she hears her door open and the soft padding of footsteps.

When she glances up in between heaves she’s surprised to see not Clint there, but Tony Stark. And for the next twenty minutes, Iron Man holds back her hair and presses cool compresses to the back of her neck. She has to wonder why he’s here and not somebody else, but there’s a vague recollection of his proclivity to alcohol and she has to wonder just how many times he’s been in this exact position.

She goes to comment on this, but is rudely interrupted by round two.

By the time round three is over she feels completely incapable of coherent thought, let alone movement. This is no issue at all for Tony as he easily hefts her into his arms and then sets her gently down on her bed. There’s a short conversation with JARVIS that she misses because she dozes off the second her head hits the pillow. She spends the next day more or less sleeping; apparently when you spend a month not sleeping your body feels the need to make up for it. Whenever she wakes up there’s someone sitting in a chair near her bed. Tony, Bruce, Natasha, even Jane, Pepper and Darcy make appearances.

Clint’s not there, not even once.

She’s not sure how she feels about that.

~~~

After the detox is, blissfully, over, she’s given an extra day to rest before rehab really starts up. As it turns out, rehab is really just a bunch of different therapy sessions. One on ones, small groups, large groups. She visits her psychiatrist and counselor three times a week and has to start going to more support groups. Those visits, at least, are all contained within Stark Tower. The only time she’s allowed to leave is for Narc-Anon meetings, which are both great because she gets out of Stark Tower, and awful because she has to share her downward spiral with a group of strangers.

She, however, soon discovers how cathartic that is.

Savannah’s never been much of a talker, at least when it comes to her feelings. Even when she was just relegated to mandatory counselling sessions she never said much about her time with Loki. But now? Well, now she almost can’t stop talking. She holds nothing back in her sessions, letting every single emotion out. All the hurt and rage and anger and despair and violation.

It feels _good_.

And better yet, nobody judges her. Not the people in the rape victims support group, or the special group created just for the victims of Loki’s brainwashing, or even the people at her Narc-Anon meetings. She was so worried that they would judge her, that she had no right to feel so bad when there were others out there that had it much worse than her. But there’s none of that. No judgement, no stern looks, no accusations. Just...support.

Go figure.

After ninety days of this, she finally starts to feel, well, better. Not entirely better, or even completely fixed. But better. It’s like she was up against a brick wall before this, and now she’s started to break a hole in that wall.

It’s such a new feeling, such a wonderful feeling, that she allows herself to get caught up in that. To hold onto it and, for the first time in a while, actually have faith in things.

Too bad that this distracts her from the harsh reality of things and the fact that nothing lasts forever.

But she’s too busy to pay attention to this. A week after she’s officially done with rehab she’s cleared to go back to work. There’s a little awkwardness at first, but once she’s able to get back into the swing of things all is, at least, forgotten. Maybe not forgiven, but there’s too much work to hold any grudges or maintain any judgement.

It’s not until three weeks of being back on the job that she realizes she hasn’t seen Clint. Not even once.

And again, she’s still not sure how she feels about that.

She really wishes she was.

~~~

Being a world class assassin requires skill: a very watchful eye, the ability to maintain a safe distance, and the patience of a saint.

Clint has to deploy all of those and every single ounce of training he’s ever had while Savannah is in rehab. After the bomb was dropped when he found her supply and SHIELD stepped in to get things rolling, Natasha had taken him aside for a talk. 

A very long talk.

Oh, he listened to every single word, but it was obvious to both of them that he wanted to be there for Savannah. And when JARVIS informed him that Savannah was sick, Natasha had to physically stop him from rushing to her side. It felt wrong to watch Tony go do what he felt he was obligated to do, but after he calmed down and thought clearly about things he knew it was for the best.

As Natasha put it- how would he feel if he were in her position? Would he want her hanging around all the time after what had happened? Would he want her to see him at his lowest?

The answer was, of course, no.

So he kept tabs on her while keeping his distance. He was pleased to see her progress and thrilled when she completed the rehab program. When she was sent back to work he, naturally, wanted to see her. And he had plans to, but those plans were constantly interrupted by the need to save the world. Such was the life of a superhero.

A full month of her being back at work passes before he’s able to make it down to her floor of Stark Tower. He gets a few odd looks, mostly from those who recognize him and wonder just what Hawkeye is doing down with the inhabitants of the lower end of the totem pole. Or at least those who weren’t world class assassins or demigods or super soldiers. 

When he makes his way to Savannah’s desk he almost doesn’t want to interrupt her. She looks so utterly focused on whatever she’s doing, her brows slightly furrowed, her lip between her teeth. Something must tip her off to his presence though, and part of him is certain that it has something to do with the link formed from being victims of Loki, because she glances up at him. The look on her face isn’t quite a smile, but it’s not a frown either or anything else he’d imagined.

He’ll take that.

“Hey...”

She speaks first, and he’s grateful for her being the one to break what was about to become uncomfortable silence.

“Hey. Feels good to be back at work, huh?” Lame. So lame. He holds back the wince.

“Yeah.” She shrugs, a casual gesture. Much of the tension in her shoulders is gone now, which is nice to see.

“So.”

“So.”

They both let out a small awkward laugh.

“Would you like to go for coffee sometime?” Another lame effort brought to you by Clint Barton. But she doesn’t seem to mind, or notice.

“I...” She trails off, and for a moment he’s certain she’s going to turn him down. He wouldn’t blame her. “Sure. That would be nice.”

“Yeah? Cool.” _Cool_? Really? Where was that world class assassin now? Time to make an exit before he can shove his foot even further down his throat. “Well, I let you get back to work. We can figure out a time for that coffee soon.”

He doesn’t quite run away, because that would be even worse, but he doesn’t dawdle either as he leaves.

~~~

Savannah blinks as Clint fades away.

Did he just ask her out?

She thinks so. And she’s pretty sure she just said yes.

There’s a whole mess of emotions at that, but her brain, for once, manages to override those and let logic win. She and Clint were both victims of Loki, both taken earlier than the rest. It’s only natural that they would be drawn to each other, despite what he had been made to do to her. The subject of Clint comes up quite frequently with her counselor and she’s long since come to terms with the fact that they were both equally victims in that situation. Clint’s also been free of Loki’s control longer than her, so in a way it would be helpful to talk to him more and get an idea of what he’s done to help things.

Clint and the date, or not date because, really, it’s just coffee, waits for a while as she finishes off her day. When she leaves there’s a slight smile on her face, and she even waves to her fellow computer grunts. Things are finally starting to look up.

That smile fades as she enters her apartment and, yet again, finds someone else there.

Only this time, it’s not Clint.

“Hello, Savannah. You’re looking quite well.”

It’s Loki.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come to the end. Thank you for sticking around for the ride!

Loki.

It’s Loki.

Loki is here. He’s _here_ , right here in her apartment, and she has no idea what to do or say or think. Loki is here, and she thought she would never see him again.

Her body bypasses her confused brain and sends her towards the panic button on her door panel; surely Loki being here isn’t planned and from the lack of alarms it’s obviously not known to anyone else. Loki is pretty much Enemy Number One and she’s pretty certain that the powers that be of SHIELD will want to know about his presence.

But Loki’s there before she can reach the panel. He shakes his head and tsks at her.

“Now, now. Is that any way to greet me? I bear you no ill will, Savannah.”

She laughs at him. It’s more of an undignified snort than anything, but it gets the point across. She doesn’t believe him. Or trust him.

“Right. Just like you beared no ill will when you killed hundreds of people and tried to take over the world. Oh, and never mind the fact that you _raped_ me.”

To his credit, Loki actually flinches at the mention of the rape. “I do regret my actions, you must believe that. I-”

“Just tell me what the fuck you’re doing here.” She cuts him off, not wanting to hear anymore. It’s bad enough that she’s let it go on for this long, but now she’s starting to shake. And she has no idea if she’s shaking from fear and agitating of seeing him again, or from resisting the urge to get closer to him again. To feel his touch again.

Loki eyes her, like he’s disapproving her choice of language, but takes a step towards her. “I have returned from Asgard in order to help you, Savannah. And the others.”

“Help us how, exactly?” She crosses her arms over her chest, mostly out of a need to keep her hands occupied to avoid reaching out to him. 

“Tell me, Savannah. Do you still feel the effects of the Tesseract? Feel the constant pull of it, feel the longing for it?”

Oh god. _Yes_. Yes, a thousand times, yes. She wants to shout it from the rooftops, declare it for the whole world to hear. Instead, she settles for a small shrug.

Loki sees through this.

“Oh, you do. I know you do. And I can help you, Savannah. I can help the others. I just need the scepter-”

“Whoa, hold up.” She cuts him off, again. “I knew this was too good to be true. You want me to get the same weapon you used to cause all of this mess in the first place? I don’t think so.”

“Savannah.” Oh god, that voice. It’s so desperate, yet commanding at the same time. He steps in even closer, reaching a hand out to cup her cheek. “I can see the pain still in your eyes. You need my help, as do the others. Just do this one thing for me, and it will allow me to begin to make amends for my misdeeds.”

She tries not to enjoy his touch. Or to lean into it, to savor every inch of his skin touching hers.

She tries, but fails.

It’s like a weight lifted from her shoulders to lean into it. His hand feels the same as it did before; slightly cool, but heavy and comforting and _perfect_. Being touched by him again is better than any high she experienced while on her drug binge. She wishes she could bottle this feeling, wishes she could put it in a pill form for easy access whenever she needs it.

“I’ll see what I can do.” The answer comes with so much ease and no effort at all that it’s almost frightening. 

And it should scare her. Because this is _Loki_. The man who raped her, who made Clint hurt her and rape her. The man responsible for the destruction of New York City, for the deaths of hundreds of innocent people. And she’s practically mewling like a kitten at his touch again.

But she did miss it. And him. More than she’ll admit to herself now, or ever.

A wide grin spreads across Loki’s face and her heart skips a bit. When he closes the remaining distance between them to press a kiss to her forehead, her heart stops. How many nights had she dreamt of this? Longed for this to happen again? She nearly threw her life away to the pull of drugs for the experience of touch, and here he is again. She wants to scream, to cry out, to weep tears of joy.

He pulls her into his embrace and she can feel all her cares slip away. She rests her head on his chest, the staccato rhythm of his heart beat soothing. Loki holds her for a long while, and she never wants this to end. But a thought crosses her brain, and she pulls back slightly.

“I should tell Clint. He’ll have access to the scepter, and I’m sure-”

“No.” It’s Loki’s turn to cut her off. She can almost feel the wave of anger rolling off of him and as she tries to pull back his hands come up to grip her arms. “You must tell no one else of this, especially not Agent Barton. The fewer people involved, the better. Do you understand?”

She nods, but he shakes her and asks the question again.

“Yes, I understand.”

The anger seems to fade away and he pulls her in for a quick embrace before pressing one last kiss to her forehead.

“I shall return later. Take care, Savannah.” And with that, he fades away.

His departure leaves her reeling. Was it real, or just a dream? She can still feel the chill of his hand on her cheek and the press of his lips against her forehead. As much as she wants it to be a dream, as much as she longs for things to be simple, she knows it was real.

And now she’s left waiting.

Waiting for _Him_ to return.

~~~

It’s a battle now, a constant battle to contain her emotions and remain focused at work. But how can she possibly focus on strings of data and equations when He’s back? Her life is once again all about Loki and when he’ll come to her again. He’s been back for two weeks now and he’s only seen her one other time aside from his initial return. Each day drags on, and the nights are even worse. But she doesn’t dare say anything to her counselor or psychiatrist that would warrant a medication change; when He does return she wants to be as clear minded as possible.

The other difficulty comes in finding out what she can about His scepter without raising any red flags. Which, given that she works for SHIELD, is next to impossible. 

As far as she can tell, her best bet to getting access to the scepter is Clint. And just the mere mention of his name brought forth a force of rage from Loki, so her days are spent trying to discover an alternative.

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be any.

And this does not make Loki very happy. At all.

When she returns to her apartment that night, He’s there, waiting for her. And at telling Him her conclusion He’s on her in the blink of an eye, the sound of His slap echoing throughout the room. She stumbles back, sinking to the floor as she cradles her throbbing face and looks up at Him, panic in her eyes.

The change in Him is drastic. His face softens, and He sinks to His knees before her.

“Please forgive me.” His voice is soothing as He moves her hand to place His own on her face. The chill intensifies, like an ice pack, and within moments the throbbing is gone.

“It’s okay.” It’s not. Not at all, and she knows this, but the words come out all the same.

When He pulls her to her feet and leads her back towards her bedroom, she says nothing.

In the morning, when she wakes up and He’s gone, she barely makes it to the bathroom before emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet. She’s sick- not from Him or from anything she ate, but from herself. This is sick, and so very wrong, but once she’s done heaving she’s left with a feeling of emptiness that she knows can only be filled again by Him.  
~~~

“Hey, Clint.”

He glances up from his report, surprise painting across his face at not only seeing Savannah, but seeing her out of her little area of Stark Tower. It’s not too common for her to be anywhere but her cubicle farm or her apartment, so he’s almost a little worried to have her find him in the lounge. But she’s smiling, so he shoves that worry and constant need to feel concern for her off to the side.

“What’s up, Savannah?”

“Hey, I needed your help for something.” There’s a moment’s hesitation there that he simply attributes to the lingering sense of awkwardness between them. “I’m running into some problems working on a new program and I needed to get access to one of the storage rooms to look through some old files. Do you think you could get me in? I don’t want to wait around all day for Agent Murphy to decide to show up.”

The request seems legitimate, as does her griping about Murphy. He’s the sort that would be late for the apocalypse. 

“Sure.” 

It’s nice to see her emerging from her shell, and honestly the report can wait. He lets her lead the way to the aforementioned storage room, and when he enters in his code he doesn’t pay any mind to the fact that she could be watching. A biometrics scan was needed for anything with his security clearance level anyway, and he removes his thumb as the door opens.

If he notices any more hesitation or doubt once she’s in the storage room, he once again writes it off as that lingering awkwardness.

Savannah’s not the sort to be up to something. Still, it warrants mentioning, especially given the fact that he’s still technically in charge of her reviews. So he mentions it in passing to Fury the next day, thinking nothing of it.

He could never expect for it to get so out of hand so quickly.

~~~

The guilt of deceiving Clint like that weighs her down for the rest of the day. Not even Loki’s presence when she returns to her apartment can relieve it. When He takes her to bed that night she keeps her eyes closed the entire time and has to fight to hold back the tears.

~~~

It takes another week after getting Clint’s code to find the best time to gain access to the lab that holds the scepter.

Loki took care of the biometrics issue. How, she doesn’t know.

And she doesn’t want to.

She waits until well past midnight, in between the shift change, to make her way down to the lab. Loki follows close behind her. When she enters in the code and presses her thumb on the pad, as instructed by Loki, she holds her breath and doesn’t let it go until the light turns green.

The lab is empty, the only light an eerie blue cast by the scepter. Loki visibly restrains Himself from rushing to it, but Savannah is more hesitant.

“Go. Get it for me, Savannah.”

She eyes Him for a moment, wary, but He nods His encouragement and she takes a few steps forward. 

The scepter is calling to her.

She can feel its power, feel the spike of electricity as she gets closer. Her arm moves up on its own accord, her fingers just barely brushing across the surface when a spike of white hot pain pierces through her shoulder.

When she glances down she sees the arrow sticking out.

With a look of horror and guilt and disbelief, she lifts her head up to spot Clint, bow still held tightly and aimed right at her. That alone, the look of betrayal on his face, hurts more than the arrow in her shoulder.

“You shot me.”

Clint looks like he’s about to say something, but stops as the others pile into the lab. Iron Man and Captain America, in full regalia, make quick work of restraining Loki. Doctor Banner, still in human form approaches her to examine her shoulder. The rest is a blur, a blur that ends with her being lead away with her hands bound behind her back.

She doesn’t dare glance back to look at Clint.

~~~

The whole mess is resolved in a week, which is pretty fast by SHIELD standards for someone who attempted to return a weapon to a psychotic supervillain. 

Clint’s finished his debrief with Fury, but that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that he reserves for anything to do with Savannah won’t rest until he gets some more answers.

“She confessed.” Fury says without him asking. “To everything. Of course we know better, thanks in part to Loki’s own confession and a report from our Asgardian friends. Seems that Loki was hell bent on getting the scepter back and thought she would be the easiest person to manipulate. When you notified me of her request for access to a restricted zone, we upped our surveillance on the lab containing the scepter. If it wasn’t for that tip, Loki likely would have gotten away with it.”

Rage courses through his veins and he wants to punch something. To destroy something, preferably Loki. But he takes a breath and sets that rage aside for now.

“What happens to her now?”

“Didn’t you know?”

“Know what, Sir?” His patience is being sorely tested now.

“We pulled some strings, got her into the computer science program at Stanford. She left today.”

Clint’s out the door before Fury can even finish.

~~~

Savannah lives her life in three parts; before him, during him, and after him.

Now that Loki is, hopefully, once again gone for good, it’s finally time for her to start putting the pieces of her life back together again. And as much as it pains her to leave SHIELD and the friends she was starting to make, she knows that she can’t do that here. Or home, for that matter. So she let SHIELD work their magic and picked a school as far away from New York and Kansas that she could get without leaving the country.

California was supposed to be nice this time of year, anyway.

What little personal items she still has are in a carry-on bag as she waits for her flight. It’s not too busy in the airport, but when she hears her name she can’t help but look up. Even when recognizing the voice.

Clint.

Of course he’d be able to get through security without a ticket.

“Leaving?”

“I have to, Clint. You should know that as much as I do.”

He seems to mull this over for a few moments, then nods as though he accepts it. Even if he doesn’t like it.

She wants to tell him that she doesn’t like it either, but doesn’t.

“Guess we never did get a chance to get that coffee, huh?” He smiles, and she wants to take a picture of it to remember that smile forever.

“Yeah, guess not.”

“ _Ladies and gentlemen, flight 1816 with non-stop service to San Francisco is now boarding._ ”

“Well...”

“Yeah.”

She can’t say goodbye. She just can’t, so she smiles a sad little smile at him and turns away, but his voice stops her.

“I’m Clint Barton.” He holds his hand out to her. “It’s nice to meet you...?”

She laughs a little, but plays along. It’s fitting. “Savannah Kemper. Nice to meet you as well, Clint Barton.” She shakes his hand, letting the grip linger a little longer than necessary before turning around again. 

As she walks away she can feel her shoulders sit just a little higher, and there’s a small smile on her face.

She lives her life in three parts, and just for that moment, that’s okay.


End file.
